


Changed

by HopeCoppice



Category: Young Dracula
Genre: Abuse, Backstory, Implied Sexual Assault, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder, Vampire Turning, Violence, sire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:30:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeCoppice/pseuds/HopeCoppice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertrand wakes up to find himself living a nightmare. No, wait... not living.<br/>Prequel of sorts to the 'Notches' series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Not a pleasant story, but one I've had in my head for a long time. Prequel of sorts to the 'Notches' series.

Bertrand woke up feeling decidedly strange. The night before was a blur, and he had an awful but persistent feeling that that was for the best. He opened his eyes to find himself in a strange room, with the curtains closed. In the candlelight, it was impossible to say what time it was, but Bertrand had an odd gut instinct that it was daylight out there.

In the glow of the candles sat a man – tall, strong, and cruel. Bertrand deduced this last snippet of information from the way the slightly fat man was staring at him as if he was a toy he would particularly enjoy breaking. It was only a matter of seconds before he realised Bertrand’s eyes were open. It was at about this point, also, that Bertrand realised the other man wasn’t breathing.

“Ah, you’re awake. Good, it’s far more interesting when you’re awake. You’ll probably be wondering why you’re still undead.” Bertrand startled at the unusual term, and his master – where had that come from? Bertrand was no slave – chuckled darkly. “Oh, or perhaps you’ve forgotten everything and you’re wondering how you came to be dead in the first place.” Bertrand sat bolt upright, clutching at his chest as he realised his heart wasn’t beating. He held his breath for a moment, just to see if he could, and found that there was no discomfort associated with the action at all. “Yes, yes. You’re a vampire, boy.” His master – no, just a man, just another man, or a vampire he supposed, a creature he’d thought existed only in legend – seemed amused by his panic. “That’s good. Breathers can be so… _breakable._ ”

A flurry of images ran behind Bertrand’s eyes, memories of just how _broken_ he’d been by this man the night before, and he pulled himself off the floor in a hurry, wanting to be in a better position to defend himself.  
“Come, now, _Bertrand_ , there’s no need to be like that.” Before he could retort, the other vampire – his _sire_ , he realised – had got behind him, twisting his arm painfully behind his back. “It’ll be much easier for you if you cooperate. Besides, it’s not as if you have a choice.” Bertrand craned his neck, trying to see his sire’s face, trying to work out what he meant by that, but he couldn’t quite see his expression. “ _Kneel_ , boy.” He spoke as if to a particularly mangy dog, and like a dog Bertrand sank obediently to the floor.

“You can’t disobey me, you see. And I have a very special job for you to do.” Bertrand’s eyes must have widened, because his master was chuckling again as he walked back around to stand in front of him. “Oh, not _that_ , although that is a terribly good suggestion and I will be sure to take you up on your _generous_ offer before dusk. No, there is another job I must explain to you first.” Then he began to speak of prophecies and ancient tomes, and Bertrand found himself listening despite himself as his master described the quest he wanted undertaken.

“That is why I bought you from your parents the night you were born, that is why I had them train you in so many useful disciplines, and that is why I had them deliver you into my hands yesterday afternoon. They will be disposed of, of course; they know too much. But you, you will be my agent in the search for the Chosen One, and you will keep searching until you find him. Then you will deliver him to me, and I will control the entire vampire world with you at my feet. Do you understand?” He nodded, and his sire indicated a bag resting on the table at which he had been sitting while he waited for Bertrand to wake. “The Book is in that bag, along with a copy of the prophecy and a basic book of law and lore. You will take it, and you will begin your search.” Bertrand nodded and made as if to stand, but a sudden backhanded blow to the face stopped him short, the black stone of the ring his master wore crashing painfully against his cheekbone.

That evil smile reappeared as Bertrand gritted his teeth against the pain.  
“Now, now, boy. We have a few hours left until sunset. I can think of several enjoyable ways to pass the time.” Somehow, Bertrand doubted _he’d_ enjoy himself. “And you’ll stay on your knees, for now.”

-

He’d fled from his sire the moment he could, as his master physically kicked him out into the darkness, but as morning drew in he realised he needed to get out of the sun. He thought he probably had about an hour to spare before the dawn when he finally, reluctantly knocked on the door of his sire’s elegant little house.  
“You, boy? What do you want?” Bertrand bowed as low as he could without overbalancing as the weight of the bag shifted, and asked to be permitted to wait out the day with his master.  
“Your master, yes, I am. Which means I make the rules. I don’t want to see you again unless you’re bringing me the Chosen One.”  
“But the sun-”  
“Will reduce you to dust unless you get out of the light, yes. You’d better work on that fast.”  
“Please.” Bertrand hated himself for begging, especially from this man, but these new instincts of his were screaming at him to fear the sun. “I’ll do anything, just let me stay with you today.” His sire looked him up and down with a sneer.  
“You’re not _that_ good, boy.” And with that, he closed the door.

Bertrand scurried to the local inn – the only doorway he found he could pass through uninvited – and booked a room, closing the curtains just in time to escape the rising sun. He had loved to watch the sun rise, as a boy. Now that pleasure would be denied him forever. He settled on the bed, wincing as he put the pressure on the welts where his master had whipped him, whipped him for no apparent reason other than the pleasure the older vampire took in it, and began to read. Suddenly his parents’ determination that he should learn made sense; he would need to learn fast if he was to succeed in his quest. It had always puzzled him that they had taught him to read, then forbidden him books, forcing him to seek them in secret and hide them like smuggled gold. He ignored the huge book – it wouldn’t open for him anyway – and began to read about vampires and the new society he would now have to be a part of.

Before too long, he had pulled out his knife and – careful not to disturb the curtains or let his skin touch the light – carved a long, thin sliver from the windowsill. He spent the rest of the day sharpening one end into a sturdy point.

-

As night fell, he followed the strange pull of instinct back to his master’s house, keeping to the darkest shadows. Bertrand had been trained, since infancy, to become an assassin the likes of whom the world had never seen. His sire would not see him now, just as he had ordered.

When the older man opened the door, it was the work of a moment to strike him in the back of the head, exactly right to dislodge the optic nerve. He had feared that it wouldn’t work on a vampire, but it seemed to have the desired effect. He took advantage of his sire’s disorientation and, clapping a hand over his mouth, dragged him into a dark, lonely alleyway. He kept his hand where it was, preventing his master from giving any orders he would be forced to obey.

No doubt his foe was attempting to manipulate him with his psychic powers, but among all the trivia about stakes and sunlight, the book he’d given Bertrand had contained the useful little fact that half-fangs were incapable of sending or receiving telepathic messages for at least two weeks after they were bitten. Moreover, his master’s wide, glassy eyes were in no condition to hypnotise anyone. Bertrand had planned his attack down to the smallest detail; it was, after all, one of the many things he’d been trained for since birth.

He turned his head to hiss into his sire’s ear – after all he’d been through, the least he deserved was a chance to gloat. But in the end, a hiss was all that came out; no words could be scathing enough, no satisfaction could be gained from them. His master struggled to break free, but Bertrand simply tightened his grip – he’d been strong as a mortal, but he was stronger still now – pushed the struggling vampire against the alley wall, and trailed the point of his makeshift stake teasingly down the man’s face, down his chest, until it came to rest just over his heart.

His sire abruptly stopped struggling and began to plead instead.  
“Please, don’t hurt me, you wouldn’t hurt a blind man, I’ll do anything -” Bertrand pressed the sharpened wood firmly into the other vampire’s chest – he was surprised by how easily it went through him - and watched the despicable creature crumble into dust.  
 _You’re not that good._

Suddenly he felt liberated – still undead, yes, but no longer bound to the will of another – and as he threw the shard of wood away and emerged from the alley, he felt almost happy. Passing the doorway of his late master’s house, he spotted something shiny glinting in the dirt. He picked it up; it was the ring with the black stone. He supposed it might be worth something, a fat black stone set in gold, but after the days he’d had he felt he deserved a trophy. Besides, it seemed like the sort of thing vampires might do; collect trophies and brag about their evil deeds. He slipped it onto his finger with a kind of sick satisfaction, then returned to the inn.

He’d intended to burn the Book, but it was one of very few things he really owned and whenever he pulled it out of the bag, sitting next to the roaring fire of one inn or another, he could never quite bring himself to throw it into the flames. He had no intention, however, of accepting his sire’s charge, of seeking the Chosen One. He left France and wandered through Spain, free at last.


End file.
